Silence
by Madame Rose
Summary: “We were like Hogwarts – we’d been repaired, but still scarred. And there were few left who knew what we used to be, few who could remember a time when evil didn’t leave a physical impression on those who experienced its final stand.” H/R oneshot, post DH


A/N: I don't know what inspired this one, really. I was just listening to "Her Diamonds" by Rob Thomas and thought "Hm. I think I should write a story about Ron and Hermione". I thought this was going to come out a lot different than it did - my stories never go the way I expect them to! - but I'm pretty happy with the end result. It's hard writing from their differing perspectives and switching off so often, so please, let me know how I did! I tried to make Ron sound different from Hermione, but, again, not sure if I did that well. Regardless, as I said, I like the end result. I've also got an Edward Allen Poe quote hidden somewhere in here, so if you can pick it out (it's rather famous) I'll be super excited!

Disclaimer: If I were JKR, life would be a lot more interesting.

* * *

_Silence_  
A RonxHermione Fanfic  
July 19, 2009

For once, I would keep my mouth shut.

But she looked so beautiful just sitting there, you know? She had this kind of contentment on her face, the kind nobody could really find in the troubled times we were all accustomed to. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the night, at least nothing that I could easily identify. The library was silent except for the ruffling pages of her book – not surprisingly at all, she was the last one in the library. Her bushy brown hair was pulled into a knot resting on the nape of her neck, but a few strands framed her face. The light from the candle cast shadows across the planes of her face, and I realized that she was truly the most beautiful creature I would ever see.

To the outsider, there wasn't anything different about the situation. And maybe, really, there wasn't anything hugely climactic. But it was the first time I'd seen her in the library in almost two years, and so much had elapsed in that time. You-Know-Who was gone, peace was restored, Harry still had an unfamiliar look of emptiness, Fred was gone and George was too. It was a hard decision my family had to make when we decided that Ginny and I would return to Hogwarts to complete our 7th year – in fact, the school itself nearly didn't open in September. But magic, for the most part, healed the harsh physical wounds the castle acquired, though it still sometimes struck me as an unfamiliar place. But Hermione, my Hermione, reading in the library was something so refreshing I could hardly stand it.

* * *

We were both huge talkers, but, for once, I would keep my mouth shut.

I do not claim to have powers of sight beyond a normal person, but I could feel him when he entered the room. The familiar sound of his footsteps, the breathing I was so attuned to, these were things that I could pick up in a mob of thousands. I kept my eyes trained on my book, but it was his face I saw on the page. Blue eyes, crinkled with a smile but reflecting sadness and wisdom one could only acquire through war and loss, stared back at me. I knew my eyes had a similar gleam, one so haunting that it was difficult for people to lock gazes with me. I noticed that more and more now, and it made me thoroughly uncomfortable. In the months following the Battle of Hogwarts, the two of us became true heroes, instead of just Harry's best friends.

But I didn't want to be a hero. Neither of us did, really. Don't get me wrong, we were relieved that Voldemort was gone, but neither of us wanted to pay the price that came with our heroism. We would never hear a Weasley twin laugh again; we would never see Tonks transform her face into that of a pig. Instead there were shadows and statues and fading memories of the great people we knew and loved. Already, the vibrancy of Tonks' hair was fading in my memory, as was the twinkle in Fred's eyes. It was a reality I struggled to accept. It was a reality we were faced with every day when we passed the spots where they were killed. It was so damn real whenever we walked into the Great Hall and saw, burned forever in our memories, the bodies of those we loved staring at the broken ceiling. But feeling Ron, my Ron, behind me while I quietly read was so real, and at the same time so surreal, that I could hardly stand it.

* * *

Like the rest of us, she pretended to be ok. And like the rest of us, I knew she wasn't. I knew she would never be truly fine; I knew that the bloody memories would never leave. She had the same look of utter anguish in her eyes that harbored in my own, and Harry's. We were still only children, thrown into the world when we were far too young. Neither of us were allowed the adolescence most were granted; indeed, our entire year would forever be scarred by something we didn't deserve. The battle that started off as our parents' ended on our shoulders – it was us who would carry the real burden. I couldn't help myself from wishing that I could take the weight of the world off her shoulders and carry it on mine, and I knew she felt the same way about me. It caused us both pain to know that we would never be able to actually relieve the other's pain.

But we could listen to the silence that sometimes rested between the two of us, and understand what the other was saying in it. I knew that when she didn't speak and got all misty eyed and stared off into the distance in the general direction of the Lake, she was thinking of that night. I knew that flashes of green light scared her because she was certain You-Know-Who had somehow come back, and I knew that the Death Eaters were still her worst nightmare. When she awoke in the dark of the night in a cold sweat and screaming, I knew what she dreamt of and I knew what murmured words would soothe her terror. And I knew that Hermione, my Hermione, would never be able to admit that she was still scared, and that she would always be scared, because she wanted to be perfect. But to me, when I looked at Hermione sitting in the library with a faint smile curled around her lips, she was perfect.

* * *

Like the rest of us, he thought he was ok. And like the rest of us, I knew he never would be. Because he felt like it was his fault his brother was dead, he felt as if he had to carry the weight of his family's sorrow on his shoulders. He thought that even Percy, who was with Fred when he got killed, did not suffer as much guilt as he; through his friendship with Harry, in his eyes, he'd brought hardship on his family. There were lines of worry already creasing his brow, and there seemed to be a permanent frown replacing the familiar smile I once knew. We had inherited the burdens of the past, of old hatred that dated back as far as our kind had existed. The hatred we inherited was not extinguished the night Voldemort was killed, as much as we all wished it had. There was still old prejudice and disgust and old rivalries that would never die, ad that made it so much harder for him. He could not accept that the entire world had not become perfect once his family and his life were torn apart so he could save it.

But I understood his pain. I knew how he felt when he looked at his family with sorrow and regret and guilt. I knew that he would never be the same again. I knew that as hard as he tried, he would never be the same as he once was. I was one of few who could understand his pain; I knew how he felt when he saw the flashes of green light or heard the sounds of a building groaning under stress. I knew that he would try for the rest of his life to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, as well as the weight of mine as well. He felt too young to be a hero, too inadequate and undereducated to be someone others idolized. When people asked for his autograph, I saw him subtly cringe away at first before obliging. Despite how uncomfortable it made him, he always wanted to please others. That was something I loved and hated about him – why couldn't he, for just one day, try and make himself his first priority? He wanted to badly to be perfect to everyone else. But to me, when I thought about Ron and how he'd become my shining knight when I was eleven years old, he was perfect.

* * *

I didn't want to disturb her peace, but she knew I was there. I could tell by the way her lips lifted ever so slightly and her eyelids twitched when she instinctively thought to look up at me. I appreciated, though, that she did not immediately acknowledge me. That would have ruined the peace of the moment, and peace wasn't something we came across often. Though the world was in a state of quiet contentment and reflection, our emotions were wild and unpredictable; right now was a time to be treasured. The normalcy of the situation reminded me that I was a child and she was a child, young and still impressionable. Our innocence had been stripped away at an age far too young, something that we could never forget and would forever impact our lives. We were like Hogwarts – we'd been repaired, but there were scars that were obvious to those who once knew us. And there were few left who knew what we used to be, few who could remember a time when evil didn't leave a physical impression on those who experienced its final stand.

* * *

He knew I knew he was there. The way he shifted his weight from foot to foot and shuffled a little gave him away. I knew he wanted me to look up at him, and I wanted to as well, but I was intent on focusing on my book. I wanted him to feel normal, if only for a few seconds. I wanted him to have that relief, something that we both needed. Reading and escaping in this library was my escape from the world; he did not have one that was as easily accessed as mine. He thrived on the happiness of those he loved, and I was happy right now. Simply watching me would be enough for him, and I would give him that. In a few more moments I would glance up at him, and I wanted nothing more than to see the eyes of the boy I fell in love with. I wanted to see shining innocence and unconditional love instead of the bitterness and fear that now resonated from them. I wanted to see that he was still capable of being funny and kind and thick from time to time. I wanted him, for a few moments, not to remember evil and how, in its final stand, it had to take our innocence with it.

* * *

She looked up at me, finally, and her brown eyes were smiling. The glow of the candle illuminated them, and for a moment I saw something I hadn't seen in a while. Hope for a future, our future, and the light of a better tomorrow.

* * *

I locked eyes with him, finally, and his blue eyes were twinkling. They appeared almost luminous on their own, and in the quiet light of the library I saw something that I thought went extinct with the final battle. Hope for tomorrow, our tomorrow, and the promise of a better future for us all.

* * *

Please RR?! I'll be so excited if you do...


End file.
